Chapter 6
On the twenty ninth day of July, the sun took its place at its highest place of power in the sign of Leo, conjunct Jupiter, with the moon utterly black and formless. Venus was at home in the sign of Taurus and pleasantly aligned with Mars in Aries. Summer was fully transformed into its full blooming glory. Insects rose lazily through humid air and frog croaking filled any space left empty by birdsong. A thunderstorm had passed through the night before and whipped the branches loose from trees and lit up the night sky in firework explosions. The morning was damp and cool.
Malfoy manor was in the last stages of being transformed from a home of the old nobility into a stage set for displaying all the power and opulence of the new dynasty. For months now, the house elves of the Malfoy family had worked themselves to the bone scrubbing every speck of dust, polishing the wood, buffing out the marble until their eyes had deep, permanent circles and they walked in a swaying, confused manner. Wizards in black Ministry robes entered the house always with their heads down in tight little groups to perform enchantments on the house. The Malfoys were constantly occupied, none more so than Narcissa Malfoy, whose input was needed for the placement of every bit of new furniture or light installation. Gone were the stuffy and intricate old sofa with fraying tassels, the ornamental old lace doilies to set drinks on, and shoe racks coming in from the greenhouse.
Tables were dragged into the garden lawn that could seat a hundred guests or more in even rows. Tents were erected so large and resplendent they could host a cathedral within their gleaming, enchanted tapestries. The grass had been browbeaten into the exact same length, shade of green and softness. In the way of a traditional wizard wedding, the flowers and decor were chosen to represent the couples’ astrological sign compatibility and future fertility. Lavender represented the seventh house harmony between Draco’s sun and Astoria’s moon. Lotuses harvested on a full moon were for a permanent, long lasting harmony. The small white flower of the mandrake was said to encourage fertility. No matter the cost, each flower that could bring happiness to the young couple was laid out in overflowing abundance on the tables and in crystal pitchers and huge ornamental based arrangements. Each breath brought a fresh wave of fragrance with it.
Harry watched from the windows of the library as the food and decoration arrived one after another. From so high up, every scurrying Death Eater and Malfoy looked like an ant marching back and forth. The day was as pleasant as Harry had hoped it wouldn’t be. The only relief was that after this was over he wouldn’t be locked up in the library wing of the manor and could wander freely through the halls and the greenhouse again.
He let his golden snitch slip through his fingers and had to rise to his feet and leap to grab it where it huddled near a corner of the great window. His eighteenth birthday had come and gone without mention. That was fine by him and no more than he expected, especially considering a wizard’s age of adulthood was seventeen. The best gift he’d given was that the Dark Lord was increasingly busy leading up to the wedding and so Harry was left to his own devices.
It did make him wonder at the time that had passed since he’d first been imprisoned. It seemed like no more than a few weeks ago since he’d been huddled with Ron and Hermione on a cold mountain top.
He let the little winged ball escape and it hovered eye level with him for a brief moment as though challenging him before racing off into the bookshelves of the library to hide. Just as he was about to go after it, the great oak door to the library opened a tiny fraction and a house elf slipped in. In his hands were folded black clothing with polished shoes on top.
”For the young master.” The elf said as it passed the ensemble on to Harry. In an instant, the elf was gone and Harry was left to pick through what he’d been given. He hadn’t thought he’d be allowed to be part of the wedding ceremony at all, or at least no one had mentioned anything to him. He went to the nearby washing room and pieced through what was given to him with his best attempt at putting it on where it belonged.
This all black outfit had clearly been tailored to him. It was comfortable around his shoulders and ended just before his wrists. The boots laced up over his pants and suspenders connected the high waisted pants to his shoulders. A black jacket layered over all of it with the insignia of a snake eating its own tail embroidered into the breast. In the mirror, Harry cut a sharp figure.
In the middle of the afternoon, a pull began to be exerted on his mind. He was familiar with it. He closed his book reluctantly and walked in its direction until he came to the closed door of a small reading room. He waited outside without knocking until a cold voice drifted across his mind and said, come in.
Inside the room there were two comfortable reading chairs, a table and a fire crackling in its heart. Voldemort sat in one chair. Harry approached but didn’t take a seat.
When Voldemort finished writing the letter before him, he said: “I expect you to mind your manners today. If you don’t, it’ll be Molly and Arthur Weasley who will pay the price for it. Do I make myself clear?”
”Yes, sir.” Harry fixed his gaze on a spot of the carpet and tried to think of only that spot and nothing else. He sensed Voldemort’s mind lingering in his own.
“You’ll be muted for the event, and within a few feet of me during the ceremony. I expect you to stand straight and still for the hour that it will last. Don’t glance to your side, or behind you. Don’t sneeze or touch your face.”
Again, Harry said, “yes, sir.”
Voldemort brought forth a mask from thin air. It was skull shaped and pale with eye slits and a mouth frozen in a toothy snarl. “This will be yours. Don’t remove it at any point during the night.”
Disgust settled in Harry's stomach. He understood the black uniform was no different than what the ant-like creatures hurrying back and forth outside wore. Still, he spat out, “Yes sir.”
“Good.” Voldemort leaned back in his chair and gave Harry an appraising look up and down. “If you do well tonight, I’d be willing to let you have time to yourself at the burrow. I’ll make sure you and the Weasleys are probably rewarded.”
Harry lowered his head without a word. Within the last six months, he’d learned what it was like to do what he was told regardless of how he felt about it. Never had he thought he might get a break from the Malfoy manor or Voldemort, but the thought of returning to what he’d once considered home was enticing.
”I’ll collect you when it’s time for the ceremony,” the Dark Lord said. “Have your mask on.”
So Harry put it on before sunset when he felt the familiar presence of the Dark Lord approaching. He arrived at the library doors with two Death Eaters flanking his right and left. He gestured for Harry to follow and the Death Eater on the left made room for him to take his spot closest to the Dark Lord where he was within three steps. As they walked through the manor, Death Eaters joined their entourage in sets of two with two strides of distance between them all.
They emerged in the garden to see hundreds of guests standing and facing the manor in their best finery waiting for them with unnatural and perfect silence. In Harry’s eyes, the guests seemed more like costumed actors than real people. Some of the robes and dresses were antiquated, rising high to their jawbones and covering their ankles, while others wore mere wisps of fabric that left their backs and legs exposed with every passing breeze. He didn’t know what any of the fabrics were made of; some of it passed through every shade of the rainbow while others wore leather hides thick enough to be dragon skin. Old wizards he could only assume worked in the Ministry of Justice wore tall powdered white wigs and suits he’d only ever seen in paintings. A group of young wizards with pale shaved heads and no eyebrows wore black from head to toe in a poor imitation of the neat uniform of the Death Eaters. The wedding guests at Bill and Fleur’s wedding might as well have been wearing t-shirts and flip flops in comparison.
A gazebo had been erected in the middle of the garden. Its sweeping curves and arches were cathedral-like and decorated with greenery. Draco stood there alone. He wore a white suit and looked pale and slight from so far away.
The crowd parted silently as the Dark Lord drew closer. Harry felt his own quick breath echoing back to him under his mask and tried to keep his pace exactly in line with the others. Their hauntingly skeletal masks and black uniforms were an uncanny combination with the splendor and beauty around them. The Death Eaters spread out into a V formation and took their places amongst the crowd. Only Harry continued to follow Voldemort up the steps into the gazebo.
Stand to my left, came the command in his mind.
The Dark Lord sized up the crowd which was hushed and waiting. When he spoke, his words were measured, smooth and clear to everyone watching as though he spoke by their side. “We are gathered here today not only to witness the joining of two noble families in the holiest of pursuits, but to celebrate the achievements we’ve obtained through years of sacrifice and strife. Our glorious old traditions and legacies once stood to be washed away by the meager but ubiquitous force of progress… our bloodlines diluted… our future spent living in the shadow of lesser creatures… Now, we mark a bright, new chapter in our legacy where we honor our old traditions.”
Soft violin began to play. Heads turned back to where a slender shoe was stepping out of the doorway of the manor. Astoria Greengrass emerged holding the arm of her father in a dress of white silk. Pearls adorned her neck and dress with a pure, alabaster glow. Underneath her cascading veil there were no hints of what her expression was and no glimpse of skin except at her neck and breast. With the eyes of hundreds of gathered friends and foes, she made her way to the altar and curtsied low and proper before the Dark Lord. He nodded to her and she made her way up the steps to where Draco stood.
Finally joined together, the bride and groom made no acknowledgement of each other but turned to face the Dark Lord.
The guests sat in unison and Voldemort began to speak. “For the best among us, marriage is a sacred commitment that protects and endures the strength and cleanliness of our lives…” Harry observed closely the happy couple that were going to spend the rest of their lives together. Their expressions were solemn and their eyes downcast. He had always thought Draco would have this kind of coldly arranged marriage but now that he was watching it he didn’t feel at all satisfied. Only a minute passed by before Harry longed desperately to shift his weight around and scratch his nose underneath the humid mask. He wished he had gone to the bathroom before it started.
Draco and Astoria made their hand tying ceremony look graceful by wrapping each other’s forearms in even, solemn movements. They leaned in and kissed each other chastely on the mouth. All of this was broken up by long political lectures from the Dark Lord during which there was not a sound squeaked or a sneeze let out from the crowd. Finally, Voldemort commanded them to kneel before him and procured a ceremonial knife. A dog whistle and low chuckles emerged from the crowd. Harry watched with deep interest as he carved a sigil into the back of both the bride and the groom’s forearms.
Just when he had hoped it was over, he felt in his mind the familiar cold demand being made. Come closer. He approached Voldemort from behind, conscious as he did so that a gasp was arising from the crowd as though they were all one. He felt wind on his back. “I bless this marriage before all here today. I decree that all proper marriages will be approved by our Ministry and conducted with the rites and rituals performed here today. I seal this proclamation with the power I command which surpasses any wizard before me.”
Harry didn’t need to look back to know there were three dragons behind him. He saw it in the audience’s expression, in the bride and groom’s pale faces, and in Voldemort’s pleasure. On cue, three bolts of fire exploded over the heads of the wedding guests with the largest, blue tinged flames in the center. One person started to applaud, and then they all were. Draco and Astoria clasped hands and held them aloft. Shouting, clapping, and crying swelled and poured over the perfect lawn.
During the feast Harry was not allowed to eat or to sit down. He stood behind Lord Voldemort, a silent specter in a Death Eaters mask, and did his best not to fidget. The only advantage to being so well disguised was how freely people spoke before the Dark Lord without the slightest suspicion that the young rebel leader of the Order of the Phoenix stood listening in.
“If only we could have your success in consolidating wizard interest on the continent as you have in Britain, then we might be able to share in the task of correcting European ministries who have strayed from tradition.” The Italian Parliament leader was honored with a key seat next to the Dark Lord. With his position, they might have been considered matched in power, but he leaned towards Voldemort and spoke so deferentially there was no mistaking him for an equal. There was something greasy about the way his eyes glistened. “France will never submit to purging itself of mudbloods without intervention. For the sake of those innocent pure blood children being tainted…and imagine the benefits we would all gain when the vaults of French secrets are unlocked…”
The servers who came around with flutes of champagne and small hors d'oeuvres were all silver haired veelas. They laid tiny roasted quails on the plates of wizards without raising their eyes and in perfect synchrony with each other. Their guests said no word of thanks but some of their eyes lingered and leered. On the dance floor, couples moved in refined, graceful little circles around a clean floor with hands on hips and shoulders and not a step out of line. Out of the musicians wearing gray and playing a graceful orchestral waltz, two of them wore collars and a third wore a black eye. Pixies trapped in jars lit up the table and pressed their hands helplessly against their glass prisons.
A woman approached the Dark Lord. “My Lord.” She curtsied. Her hair was honey yellow and her eyes cornflower blue. The dress she wore circled around her neck but cut deeply down to her smooth, ivory chest and left her whole back exposed. When she looked up she held eye contact with the Dark Lord until she was forced to blush.
The entertainment of the event was as cruel as Harry had thought it would be. A dwarf made to look ridiculous in white and red makeup with a funny cap was cornered in an erected fighting ring with a bear. To make the fight fair, the bear was missing its teeth. Confused and frightened, the beast staggered around widely and struck out where it could. The dwarf did his best to run, but when he passed too far out of range, stones would rain down from above and drive him back towards his death. Voldemort passed by the spectacle of men and women shouting and placing bets over the horrors before them as he listened to his ministers speak of plans for new statues and laws that would further restrict muggleborn’s freedoms. Steps away from the mad spectacle of the bear and dwarf, Veela dancers were moving in graceful, organized cohesion while men stared and drooled. An orchestra played. Guests laughed uproariously at jokes in tight, exclusive little circles and wandered throughout the rich and darkening gardens.
Draco and his new wife had left the dance floor after having the first dance to themselves. They greeted every guest who approached and never once separated their hands from each other’s. Their backs remained straight and their eyes forward through the entire event. Hours into the night, guests tapped forks and knives against their glasses and shouted for the newlyweds to kiss. They did so calmly, until the bawdy words of their drunk guests could be made out to everyone’s ears. A mixture of violence and the anticipation of humiliation that excited the old and the lustful hung like perfume in the air.
A white napkin was thrown across the ballroom floor at the young couple. “The spell won’t be finished until they are.” Harry recognized a Slytherin boy in their year in slate gray robes. He was grinning lavisciously. “When are we going to put the young children to bed?”
“Take her clothes off! Let’s see for ourselves how pure she really is!”
“Draco, are you man enough to stay upright under pressure?”
Rowdy guests began flocking around the newly wedded couple until they were swallowed out of view. A bow tie flew onto the floor, and was followed by a white veil. A bawdy song began to be sung. The musicians charmed their instruments into the air and played a fast jig that hands clapped to. The couple was lifted up by levitation charm just high enough for the people below to tear at their increasingly bedraggled clothing. Draco’s attempts to smile and shove people away while laughing seemed forced from where Harry was watching. Astoria’s pretty face was flushed and her hands sought to protect herself from groping hands below. They were the crown on top of a parade of revelry that most of the party guests joined.
The ones who stayed behind circled around Voldemort with a vulgar eagerness. They were deferential and nervous. They laughed when they thought they should and made their propositions to him. Harry sensed his boredom. Or rather, he’d come to know the Dark Lord well enough to recognize the signs of it. His face was a blank and cold mask. He threw out difficult questions to see his guests stammer, encouraged them to argue with each other and then smiled almost imperceptibly. He gazed down into his wine goblet and swirled it.
Harry was just shifting on his tired feet and thinking about his bed when a cry went up. Amongst the gleeful, drunk shouting this one was higher and choked off. Voldemort’s head turned to the direction of the sudden silence. The light of multiple spells being fired off glittered off the windows of the manor. A death eater aparated before the Dark Lord and fell to his knees.
”The Order,” he said. “On the west side of the manor. At least five of them.”
“Go.” Voldemort gave his orders immediately. Only Harry seemed to be reeling from shock. “You have your instructions. Capture them.” The death eaters who had been stationed in quiet dark corners for the entirety of the wedding turned into black smoke and erupted towards the west end of the manor. A death eater appeared by Harry's side and took hold of his arm.
The Dark Lord pulled back his sleeve and pressed his wand to his skull and snake tattoo. The noise in the distance became louder. Somewhere glass shattered and someone screamed. Voldemort’s face was distorted. He was smiling widely.
Harry watched in horror as countless reinforcements streamed in towards the Order as disembodied smoke. The Dark Lord, unwilling to miss out on the fun, disappeared into a whirling twister of black smoke and raced towards the action. The grounds of the wedding were deserted and full of trash.
Harry slammed his elbow back into the face of the Death Eater that held him. As the man fell back, Harry was on him, slamming a fist into his face and wrestling him into the ground. It was his wand Harry was after, and they battled for it desperately, until Harry slipped his hand underneath his mask and dug his fingers cruelly into his nose and then by his eyes. When the death eater’s fingers loosened around the wand, Harry took it and aimed a paralyzing curse towards the wand’s owner.
Then, Harry ran towards the manor. In his death eater uniform, no one spared him a second thought. He knew Malfoy manor like the back of his hand and took short cuts through garden doors and servant’s corridors to get to the west tower. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Matching his worry for the people who were storming Voldemort’s stronghold was his desire to see them all again. All of them, any of them; Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Fred, George, Remus, Tonks. He petrified a death eater he ran into on his way and didn’t slow down for a second. He felt like himself again.
In the back hallway leading to the kitchens, he heard the sound of running. He slowed down with the wand held loosely in his grip. The group that appeared before him made his heart beat so hard it was painful. Ron was wearing the black robes and white tie of a servant with his red hair growing long and falling below his newly sharp and defined jawline. Hermione wore a canary yellow dress that wrapped around her neck and left her sides and her back bare. She’d kicked off her heels and ran barefoot. Nevillle Longbottom was a foot taller than he had been when Harry had seen him at Hogwarts and wearing an old man’s stuffy politician’s robes. Luna Lovegood was dressed strangest of all. Her pale skin had been covered in mud and her hair transformed into leafy branches. If she laid down, Harry wouldn’t have been able to tell her apart from a shrub.
Before he could say anything, Hermione was shouting, “Stupify!” His reflexes were a second faster than the spell and he threw himself into the wall to dodge. Ron’s curse came next, a less merciful “bombarda” that bounced off Harry’s “protego” and turned the wall next to him into rubble.
“Wait!” Harry shouted as another spell came that he deflected. “It’s me!” He struggled with the death eater mask awkwardly until it slipped off his head. He brushed sweaty hair off his forehead to see through and felt a collision crush his ribs. Hermione's bushy hair was all around him and her arms clutching him tightly. Another set of arms joined hers and Ron lifted them both into the air for a second before setting them down. Harry had to take a deep breath to refill his crushed lungs and felt warmth spread starting from his center and ending all the way to his fingers.
Neville didn’t lower his wand. He stood far away and asked warily. “What did Malfoy steal from me during our first flying lesson?”
Harry cast about in his memories. “A remembrall.”
“When we met on the train in our fifth year, how many red toed babblelarks were on my necklace?” Luna followed up by asking in her dreamy voice.
This took Harry by surprise. “Luna, I… I don’t remember.”
”That’s all right, I know it’s you.” She nodded in a serious and confidential way to her companions. “His head’s a mess of wrackspurts.”
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione was on the verge of tears. “We had hoped we’d find you here, but we weren’t sure… are you alright? What happened to you?”
He explained his capture and imprisonment as briefly as he could, aware all the while of the screams and explosions happening just beyond their walls and echoing in the distance. As he spoke, he took in their appearance hungrily. There were things about their faces that he’d forgotten about, and hadn’t realized he’d forgotten; Ron's slightly flat nose, Hermione’s arched eyebrows, Neville’s hooded eyes. He noticed too how much they had changed. Ron had advanced another few inches above Harry and his chin had stubble. Hermione’s face had leaned out and her body looked more like a woman’s than an androgynous teen’s. Neville had changed the most of all. He had a long pink scar running down the side of his face and the baby fat had melted off of him, leaving him a handsome and broad shouldered young adult. Luna mostly looked the same, although it was hard to tell underneath the mud.
As he finished his abbreviated explanation, he asked quickly and anxiously. “What are you doing here? What’s the plan?”
Ron and Hermione exchanged significant looks.
“Never mind.” Harry said immediately. “Voldemort will still have access to my thoughts if he has a mind to check. What can I do?”
“You can help us fight off death eaters.” Hermione said. “We know what we’re looking for, and we have a plan in place to take you away from here. We’ll need to… we’ll need to make you unconscious to do it.”
Harry didn’t have to think. It was just like Hermione to take into account the danger he could potentially pose and come up with a solution. He wouldn’t have trusted anyone more. “Yeah, great idea. You lead the way.”
They took the lead in rushing through the manor. Hermione stopped before every turn and closed the door to inspect carefully before they went through and Ron covered them from the back. Within no time, they ran across a group of party goers in disheveled gowns and dress robes. They had their wands out and were scouring the manor much like Harry’s rebel coalition, but their gaites were unsteady and they spoke in loud, slurred voices.
“If we can capture even one member of the Order…”
Hermione had spotted their group of six before they were noticed, she drew them back around the corner, and held up a finger counting down the seconds as they drew nearer. They held tight and tense with their wands at the ready until Hermione's last finger went down and then they sprang out and all cried out at once. “Stupify!” “Impendio!” “Expelliarmus!”
The party goers were hit unprepared and within moments were on the floor petrified and bound in ropes. Ron kicked them as they ran past. Hermione checked a leather bound book every few seconds and used what was written there to guide them towards their target. Harry guided them through back doors and servants tunnels in the manor away from groups of death eaters that shouted orders to each other and turned into smoke that whipped through corridors and shattered windows. Outside there was more pandemonium. Through one window, Harry could see a fierce duel with masked death eaters on one side and on the other four wizards and a goblin who had a perfectly practiced precision of rotating between shield charms and hexes. As he ran past another window he saw the Vipertooth strike from where it hung off the stone wall of the manor with its flat, sharp tail and a decapitated death eater’s body fell to its knees.
Far above the Vipertooth and the statues decorating the roof of Malfoy manor Lord Voldemort was preoccupied with the Hebridean Black. It perched looking down at the witches and wizards scattered on the courtyard below with a hungry, loving expression in its reptilian eyes. Its lungs filled with cold, sweet air and its pouch of flammable liquid began to vibrate in its throat.
An unpleasant sensation filled its mind. The feeling of North winter winds against its skin, biting into fresh meat and finding it rotten, getting a thorn stuck between the tender skin near its claw. It looked around to find the cause of this unpleasantness and saw exactly the wizard it was hoping to eat.
It pulled itself forward with its claws towards the wizard and found the spot where he had been was only smoke. It snapped its jaws at the empty air. A sword of goblin made steel plunged itself into its back foot and it screeched. Its tail thrashed out all around it and its teeth plunged into stone and statue. Its mind was being tested for signs of weakness. This time it was determined to give none away. It filled its lungs and blew an avalanche of fire in every possible direction and saw the wizard turn to smoke and run to avoid it. The wizard waved his wand and summoned a dragonheart string rope that wrapped around the Hebridean Black’s legs and snout. The dragon stumbled but did not break or bend its knees. It let the wizard enter its mind and pretended to be subdued while it judged just far the wizard’s fragile bones were from its teeth.
Below, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Luna’s final destination was becoming clear. The compass Hermione held led them deeper and deeper into the manor until they arrived at the greenhouse. It was locked and unlit for the event. They broke in by simply shattering the stained glass door and stepping through carefully to avoid the chards. The greenhouse was thick with humidity and eerily quiet. The plants and trees were indistinct and human sized shadows. Red and green lights reflected off the dark ceiling from the fight in the distance. They stepped forward with Ron guarding their backs and their wands pointed in all directions in the dark.
“It’s somewhere in here,” Hermione whispered. “We don’t have much more time. We’ll have to leave before more reinforcements arrive. We should split up to search.”
Ron spoke up in his low voice. “I’ll go with you, Hermione.”
”No,” Hermione said. “You should go with Harry and Luna. I’ll go with Neville. As soon as someone spots it, send up red sparks into the air. Hold it off until I can come with the bag.”
Harry didn’t need to be told what they were searching for. There was only one thing they were sure to find here that would be worth the risk of such a large scale invasion. He tried to master his emotions and build up the wall he needed in his mind. Voldemort couldn’t know what they had set out to do here or it would all be over for them.
Somewhere in this dark, humid jungle there was a snake waiting for them.
Harry led the way. He knew the greenhouse the best and he wanted to be the one to take on the most dangerous position. If he died today, it would be two horcruxes taken care of. They walked deep into trees with their wands lit up and their breath shallow. The roots of the banyan trees and the vines hanging over thick branches were all snakes to them until they got closer. In the utter silence, there was a soft beating noise, like that of a heart pumping. Harry found himself unconsciously drawn deeper into the thick forest. He gestured for Ron and Luna to stay close to him. The wrong step would send them plummeting into the pool below.
“Maybe we should try to lure it out,” Ron suggested.
“No, it’s close by.” Harry’s foot caught on a root and he fell to his knees. Ron’s hand came out to pull him to his feet but Harry gasped and put his hand to his head instead of meeting his. Pain wretched him from everything surrounding him. There was only the excruciating burning in his head.
Distantly, he heard Luna say, “… if we make him unconscious we might not be able to get him out…” and Ron’s distorted and frustrated response, “we can’t leave him here…”
Powerful muscles tensed and contracted dragging a smooth body across a narrow limb. Below were three small figures. No larger than an antelope and without the horns. They were holding onto one of their own with their wands away. The back of their heads faced him. The smell of sweat and fear was pungent. The taste was on his tongue.
“Nagini!” Harry gasped. He grabbed Ron and Luna’s hands and dragged them forward desperately. They tripped and sprawled in the tentacle roots of a banyan tree. Harry’s wand was out and pointing above him where a moment ago he had seen the back of his own head. The diamond shaped head above them opened its mouth and exposed its long, thin fangs.
He heard Ron’s thin moan of horror.
” Incendio !” Harry shouted. Flames erupted from his wand and cast the trees around them into a warm firelight. Nagini hissed. The fire began to weaken and die. Nagini coiled up tightly against the branch like a spring.
” Arresto momentum !” Ron shouted.
Nothing impeded Nagini’s strike. Her stretched jaw was all they could see coming for them from above. She landed with her teeth wrapped around Ron’s forearm and crushed his wand in her teeth. Ron screamed. Luna had her arms extended too, pushing outward and crying out with exertion as Nagini’s powerful body pushed forward towards them. Her teeth gnashed around Ron’s arm and the branch Luna put out to block her.
“Confringo!” Harry shouted and a small blast bounced off Nagini’s perfect dark green scales. “Incendio!” Hot flames burned the edge of his skin and caught fire on leaves scattered around them, but the powerful fifteen foot serpent did not feel it. It opened its jaw wide and thrashed about wildly to spit out the branch blocking its way.
”No,” Luna breathed.
“Stop, Nagini.” Harry said. He was on top of Ron, pushing him down and trying to block the way to Luna, as well. Blood made his grip on them slippery. The snake hesitated. Her fanged mouth was open and her small black eyes eyes fixed on them. Her diamond shaped head swayed in the air. Harry pressed on. “Nagini, please.”
Her massive pink mouth closed slowly. Her flat, diamond shaped head turned to the side and her small black eyes peered at him. Harry stretched his hand out, for her to smell or to show he meant her no harm, and her tongue flicked out to taste the air.
The sword strike came without warning.
There was only a second for a flash of silver light and the flesh connecting Nagini’s wide, flat head and the start of her enormous body ripped into two. Her head fell with a dull, anticlimactic thud on the greenhouse floor. Her body, the width of a man’s torso, fell to the side with a slap. The open wound where she’d been decapitated was visible to them. It was pink and fleshy, not yet bleeding. And there was Neville standing there with the sword of Gryffindor held aloft and breathing hard. His eyes were bright and panicked. He looked down at the sword in his hands like he’d never seen it before.
”Oh god,” Ron said thickly. “It’s dead.”
Hermione came running from behind Neville and threw herself at Ron. She sobbed and he groaned in pain until she pulled away and saw the bloody wreck of his arm. She pulled out her wand and stuttered out a failed spell three times until Luna pressed a hand to her arm and said, “episky.” The blood kept coming.
Hermione, Luna, Harry and Neville all tried to fix Ron but the flesh wouldn’t mend and the blood didn’t thicken, so Hermione conjured up a bandage and wrapped his arm again and again until the blood was only just leaking through. Harry came to his feet shakily and helped Luna up.
”We’ve got to get out of here,” he said as another wave of pain came like an ice pick hammering into his skull. He moaned and dropped to his knees. There were no thoughts being conveyed to him. There were no words to express the Dark Lord’s fury and grief.
He saw her in his mind’s eye in a million fragmented moments. The curl of her sun-warmed flesh around his cold, weak body. A smaller, thinner Nagini dangling playfully from a large branch and making her way down. Sitting calm and self-assured on his shoulders as he worried and raged. Powerful feeling swarmed over him. Feelings he couldn’t endure.
He heard Hermione speaking again but far away, like he was listening from underwater. “Hippogriffs can’t… not with Ron…” Hands on his elbow drew him to his feet but he was blind with pain. Tears were spilling down his face and wetting his chin. In his blurred vision he saw red lights streaking at his friends and heard shouts nearby. Deatheaters.
Green and red lights exploded from every side and windows all around them shattered and rained down around them. Hermione flung out spell after spell with intense concentration. Neville’s “Protego” charm was solid as a rock that spells washed and broke against. Still, the death eaters advanced. Finally a spell hit a tree trunk near them and exploded shards of bark and wood that made Hermione stagger and halt her stream of wordless incantation. He saw blood trickle down from the right side of her face and her eye. A surge of emotion pulled Harry out of his pain. The world refocused.
He hit the closest death eater with a binding spell that sent him to the ground. He joined Neville’s side and took up Hermoine’s spot. “To the left, head in the direction of the nymph statue.” He looked back and saw Luna dragging Ron onto her thin back. He was white as a ghost and his bandage was already soaked through. Hermione started firing off spells again with her unbloodied eye open. Harry asked the question to her as they ran. “Regroup with the others?”
She nodded. “We don’t have much time. The portkey leaves in two minutes.”
Death Eaters were flooding into the building. It was all they could do to keep up with the amount that was around them and they could see smoke-like shadows emerging from behind trees and plants. Harry flung a charm that inelegantly shattered one of the walls of the greenhouse. He felt a shard slice into the sole of his shoe as they burst through the ruined walls. They emerged onto a ruined battlefield.
Deep tears had been cut into a perfect green lawn. Champagne glasses and porcelain platters spilled a mess of food and liquid over white table clothes. The massive tent was supported by only four of ten of the original pillars. Fire singed the edges of great oak trees and flowering hedges. Across the lawn bodies were strewn.
The Order and the Deatheaters were easy to make out in the field. The Deatheaters were all indistinguishable in their black cloaks and skull masks. They fired spells at the Order from a distance and left their comrades on the ground. Their orderly cohesion stood in stark relief to their opponents.
Among the Order, there was mad confusion. There were five wizards and two witches in brown combat uniforms, six goblins dressed as pristinely as though they worked the counter at Gringotts, Grawp looking bigger and muddier than ever, and three hippograffs tearing madly with their claws at everything around them. At the heart of all of them was a stern old witch that Harry knew very well.
Her movements were quick and concise. Her every curse landed on a death eater and she had a perfect grasp of where her opponents would strike. When her defensive spells came up, even the green unforgivable curse melted away. When a fighter went down, McGonagal fought harder than ever.
With less sophistication but not less damage done to their opponents, Grawp was picking up long tables, chairs, and tent poles and hurling them across the lawn. He was grinning broadly and not hampered in the slightest by the spells breaking against his thick brown skin. Looking much smaller by his side, there was Hagrid with his umbrella. He sent curse after curse flying in all directions as he egged his half brother on.
The young former Hogwarts students ran hard towards the Order. It was now all Harry could do to throw up shield charm after shield charm around himself and his friends. Their pursuers joined the rest of the Deatheaters and doubled the attacks against them.
They heard Remus Lupin shout. “Ten seconds!”
The Order pulled closer together. Hagrid pulled at Grawp’s thigh to get him to move back. Wizards reached out to their hippogriff compatriots and tried to hold tight onto them as they reared and scratched at the ground. Harry and his friends were going to make it to them. They were ten paces away and moving fast. A space opened up around a battered plastic toy car and Luna reached in and touched it first. Ron shouted, “We did it!”
And then Neville was hit.
Blood spurted out of the wound on his back and sprayed the grass. He fell hard on his elbows. A hippogriff reared back in surprise. Harry and Ron turned back and grabbed hold of Neville’s arm. He moaned in pain as they lifted him. They heard someone shouting for them from behind, and then heard a great sucking noise and felt the air pull at them from behind, and then a pop. Ron, Harry, Neville, Hermione and a black hippogriff were all that were left.
The Deatheaters began to close in.
But luck was in their favor. The Peruvian Vipertooth had been clinging to the stone walls of the manor and delightedly sneaking up on unsuspecting victims but now it took flight. Low and slightly unbalanced because of a wing that had healed poorly, it took off suddenly across the field between the remaining members of the Order and the Deatheaters. Harry had just enough time to settle Neville, Ron and Hermione on the back of the hippogriff while it passed. They quickly realized what it was fleeing from.
The Hebridean Black had been set free from its binding. Its eyes were clear and placid. It stood next to a diminutive but menacing form of a wizard on top of the roof and spread its wings. Harry knew what was going to happen. “Go,” he said urgently. “As fast as you can. Don’t worry about me, I’ll try and hold them off.” Ron and Hermione began to protest, but the hippogriff had better sense. It was a young, powerful stallion that Hagrid had taken excellent care of. When it spread its vast wings, only two strokes downward were enough to lift all three of its riders off the ground. They called for him as they went up but Harry didn’t hear them.
Accio broomstick. He had never perfectly mastered wordless spellcasting but his focus and need was such now that the thought was all it took.
Four weeks ago, on a day when he’d known Lord Voldemort was busy with an important event at the Ministry, he had set the pieces in motion for the only plan he could think of that might help him and the cause. The roots of the salvo organica fusillade plant that the Dark Lord had plucked buds off of for him to eat for their fire-resistant properties were extremely potent when ground up, capable of eroding steel and burning away metal. The locks on the storeroom in the garden had melted like butter when he carefully smeared the paste into them. Harry had only allowed himself a brief moment of elation at the sight of a broom tucked away before he forced himself to cast it out of his mind, close the storeroom doors and walk away.
Arthur and Molly Weasley’s lives weren’t worth a joyride, but if there was a moment of distraction when he could get to them before anyone noticed he was gone or if he could coordinate with the Order…
The Deatheaters were closing in.
Harry desperately cast spells in every direction around him and moved side to side to dodge what was coming at him. It was all he could do to defend himself, but one rider on the hippogriff didn’t need defending. Hermione spent off powerful spell after spell, and they kept rising in the air. Fifty, seventy, a hundred feet. Powerful black wings sent gusts of wind downward. The hippogriff’s sharp yellow eyes were focused on the sky with nothing else in its sights. It gained speed and took advantage of a gust of wind from the North. To the South, the Hebridean Black dragon flexed its powerful shoulders and pounded its thirty foot long wingspan against the air.
The door of an underutilized supply closet burst open and the Nimbus 2001 that Draco Malfoy had bought in his second year raced towards Harry. It was sleek black with gold lettering and more beautiful than anything he’d seen in a long time. The warm and slightly dusty wood underneath his fingers was as familiar to him as the touch of a friend.
Harry looked upward and saw the dragon gaining on the hippogriff. The hippogriff was the size of a sparrow next to an eagle. Its wings flapped quickly but each stroke gained it only a fraction of the movement the dragon’s wings did. Harry mounted the broom and aimed the sleek black handle upwards. Voldemort’s high voice sounded in his head. Stop. It was a powerful command. He heard the threat behind it.
Voldemort and many of his Deatheaters were turning into dark clouds of smoke and erupting off the ground. The Dark Lord’s form was the darkest black and larger than the gray forms of his followers. Immediately they were lagging behind the speed of those already in the air.
He kicked up off the ground. Above him, the massive black dragoon was gaining on the black hippogriff. They were a horrifying black and white picture against the clear sky. Harry, get back here. All it would take would be a snap of the dragon’s teeth and the whole hippogriff and its three riders would be in its warm, stinking throat and sliding down to its belly.
The Nimbus 2001 couldn’t match up to the Firebolt Harry had fallen in love with. It lacked the agility and turn control he had come to rely on. To catch up to the Hebridean Black, that didn’t matter. He just had to have speed and the black Nimbus had that. He had to catch up before the inevitable and the worst happened. Get back here now. He was gaining on the Hebridean at the same rate it was gaining on the hippogriff. And it felt good, so incredibly good, to be off the ground. There was nothing up here to be afraid of, or to think of, except his grip on the broomstick and the feeling of the air rushing by his ears. He didn’t want to feel euphoric but he did.
The dragon was ahead of him, no more fearsome than any opposing team in Quidditch. I swear I’ll make you regret this. Turn around. He drew alongside the Hebridean Black. He was lighter and more nimble than the dragon, and he navigated the space between its pounding wings like he was built for it. He pulled up even against its great amber eyes and saw his own reflection looking back at himself in its glossy, hateful depths. I’ll call the dragon off, come back to the ground. Harry barrel rolled to the side instinctually. The dragon’s jaws snapped shut with a sound like a steel door slamming in the space where Harry had been a moment ago. The dragon was still gaining altitude and speed. Its prey was the black hippogriff and the riders its master had sent it after and a single broomstick rider would be only a small appetizer. Harry once again drew even with the dragon.
He swerved in and out of the range of its jaws, always within eyesight, like an annoying fly he was sure it wanted to swat out of the sky. Its intelligent slit eyes tracked him but now it wouldn’t waste energy or speed by turning towards him. It was five beats of its wings out of range of the hippogriff. He could see the back of Hermoine’s head and her curls flying around her. Blood dripped into the sky from wounds on Ron’s arm and Neville’s back. Three beats away. Harry searched desperately for something to keep the dragon away.
Then it came to him. Two beats away. He would have to get in close. He flew further away than he ever had before and locked his eyes on the small target he would have to aim for. He shot straight at the dragon’s face. His stolen wand aimed perfectly at the dragon’s small nostrils, just above its jagged swordlike teeth.
He shouted, “ Carpe retractum !” A thick rope shot out of the wand and attached to the inside of its nostril. Harry landed with his broomstick still between his legs on the dragon’s snout mere feet away from its narrowing pupils. He pulled as hard as he could to the left and felt the entire dragon shudder. Its head rolled helplessly to the left by its bullring and Harry was shaken off and back into the air again, still holding the rope attached to its nostril. As he fell the pressure on the dragon’s nose intensified. It roared with pain and fury. Gas built up in its throat pocket exploded into the air. The fire was blue at the dragon’s mouth and fire as it spread out into the sky. Harry felt the heat of it on his back even though he had flown further left of the dragon’s muzzle so he was out of range. He urged his broomstick to take sharper and sharper turns in the air as he and the dragon fell downward and he had to avoid the dragonfire it tried to turn on him. He had let go of the wand and the rope at some point. It barely registered with him and didn’t matter at all to the dragon, who was intent on killing him.
They plummeted down in a straight drive.
It took strength and control to hold onto the broomstick in a dive where he had to be continually spiraling but he knew he could do it. He had imagined doing it countless times before. He wasn’t afraid. Exhilaration filled him.
The ground rose underneath them and came into focus. The trees, the field, the houses in the distance. Wronski Feint. He held his nerve. The dragon was gaining on him. It had the advantage of weight as they went down and its wings were tucked by its side. Its teeth were almost pressed against the sleek black twigs of his broom.
Harry pulled up. Grass brushed his feet. He felt like his organs were still moving downward while he moved up. The breath was knocked out of him and his vision was blurry. His speed hadn’t been impacted. He shot across the prairie and hit a lump of dirt that sent him flying off his broomstick. He felt rather than heard the dragon crash. The ground shook and birds shot out of the grass with a cry of alarm. The dragon’s wings were spread out around it. It twitched convulsively.
Harry looked upwards at the sky from where he lay on his back and saw a little black spot flying many miles off to the south like a great bird in the sky. Pain was flooding in now. He had hit his elbow badly when he landed but he didn’t think it was broken. He had been cushioned by thick grass and twigs. In the distance, he saw hazy smoke forms racing across the sky. Half of them were pursuing the hippogriff and the other half were headed his way. He got to his feet and readjusted his glasses, which had cut into his face. His scar was beginning to hurt.
His right leg was stiff but took his weight as he limped over to the black broomstick which was miraculously still in one piece. Stay where you are. You have no idea how much you will regret it if you continue to defy me. Some of the twigs were broken but when he got on it again it rose obediently up into the air. Pain from his scar made it feel like his skull was going to crack. He flew upwards high enough that falling would kill him and the pain subsided. Holding onto the broomstick with his one arm still numb was difficult. The feeling of the wind rushing through his hair and the smooth polished wood beneath his fingertips was enough to make up for it. There is nowhere you can go that I won’t be able to find you. Harry aimed his broomstick towards the small black dot and flew after his friends with no intention of hiding.